


this is just a vent fic be careful reading it

by orphan_account



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, M/M, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Indulgent, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 05:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13943529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: seriously, it might be kinda fucked upi project onto spectre all the time and your view of his character is most certainly different than minedont read this if youre easily disturbed/get intrusive thoughts about characters





	this is just a vent fic be careful reading it

**Author's Note:**

> this is your last warning, there are heavy themes of depression, self-harm, and suicide in this fic, all with spectre. this is me projecting all of my bad feelings onto him. youve been warned.

There’s a frigid moment of silence.

  
“Get down from there.”

  
  
Wordlessly, Spectre obeys.

 

He holds his arm, strangely unembarrassed, as Cagney steps past him and climbs up on the stool, untying the rope from the ceiling beam.

 

He knows better than to reprimand Spectre.

 

Nowhere to discard the rope, he coils it and places it on the stool.

 

That just means Cagney is going to be watching over him, Spectre knows.

 

Silent, Cagney gently grabs Spectre’s hand and leads him out of the pantry, meeting no resistance in the action. Spectre still doesn’t say anything.

 

They reach the couch and Cagney takes a seat, Spectre sitting down with him.

 

And then, of course, it’s the question Spectre never has an answer to.

 

“Why?”

 

Spectre shakes his head and shrugs, hands clenched to fists.

 

“Right.”

 

Cagney sighs and leans forward, back slouched.

 

“You weren’t thinkin’?”

 

Spectre nods.

 

“Do you need any antibiotic?” Cagney looks over and Spectre’s heart breaks at the forlorn look on his face. It pains him when he has to nod again. “Okay. Stay here.”

 

Spectre just sits, not even contemplative, his mind completely empty save for the clacking of Cagney’s feet on the ground as he fetches some antibiotic ointment. He’s weirdly,  _ keenly _ aware of the feelings around him; the groaning of fabric as Cagney sits back down, the way the cushion gives in and tilts Spectre towards him. “Give me your arm.”

 

Again, Spectre obeys, raising his left arm for Cagney to examine. Two new scratches, among the myriad of old, purple scars on his ghostly blue body. He winces as he feels the texture of Cagney’s leaf and the sting of the ointment against the raw skin.

 

“Done.”

 

He sighs in relief, the numbing agent in the cream taking effect. He realizes his teeth are clenched and his hands are balled, and tries to relax.

 

“You know I’ll be here for you no matter how many times you do this.”

 

Does Spectre know?

 

It’s not like it’s concretely in his mind that Cagney won’t leave him. It’s something he worries about every day.

 

Spectre gives a long exhale. “You must regret dating me.”

 

“Wrong.” Cagney lightly rests his leaves on Spectre’s wrists, curling them below them and bowing his head slightly. “Spec, I don’t know how to make you believe it. You’re the best thing that could have happened to me.”

 

“Then why don’t I feel like it?” Cagney feels a few hot tears splash against his leafy hands. “You could be so much better off with Hilda, or Psy, or Beppi. I’m nothing. All I did was make you get attached to me, only to try an’ kill myself again over and over and over.”

 

“Spec.”

 

His tear-obscured vision shifts as Cagney directs his hands toward himself. His face is soft, gentle, unjudging,  _ loving. _

 

“Do you really believe that? Do you really think I could spend this much time with someone I didn’t love with all my being? Through every attempt, every scar, every panic, every lonely night?”

 

Spec doesn’t respond, just stares at Cagney for a second before squeezing his eyes shut tight and sobbing once, relenting and collapsing onto Cagney’s lap. Cagney’s right leaf rubs along his back comfortingly, unwaveringly.

 

“We both know I can’t take your depression away, Spectre,” Cagney mumbles. “But I’m always your shoulder to cry on. Or, uh, knee.”

 

Spectre has to stifle a strained laugh at that, shoulders bunched. He knows it will just come back again, but for the moment, his self-hate is gone, he doesn’t want to die again, he can enjoy himself.

 

And even if Cagney can’t make that feeling constant, the moments where he takes away the rainclouds are precious.

**Author's Note:**

> i told you dog, i warned you about this fucked up vent fic


End file.
